


Tell Me a Story

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, The most fluff I've ever written, story time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the night, in the middle of the day - it doesn't matter. There's always inspiration right in front Asch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me a Story

“Tell me a story.”

A soft huff, and an arm wrapping tighter, and he snuggles back into that broad chest and waiting lips that press against the back of his neck. Sometimes, the heat is unbearable. Tonight, it is perfect.

Or would be, if his request went headed.

“Asch.”

“What.” Drowsily, sleepily said, and he chuffs into Sync’s hair and stirs the little strands.

“Tell me a story.”

Groans, this time, and Sync finds a small smile appearing on his lips. It’s still dark, or perhaps approaching morning, but far too early either way for this conversation, and they both know it. Asch’s hand rests on his belly, fingers splayed out like a starfish, and Sync hears the way Asch settles down, clearly planning on going to sleep.

“Please?”

A resigned sigh. “You’re a pain.”

“Your pain, yes.”

Asch huffs and slowly pulls away a little. The line of his body is still close enough to heat Sync’s entire back, as his body is naturally cooler to the touch, and he curls a little more into the blankets. No doubt Asch is thinking of something, and Sync doesn’t want to ruin his thoughts by turning around and meeting those light eyes. He’s been told more than once he’s a distraction.

“Once upon a time,” Asch starts, his voice husky and soft as he fights the natural want to slumber again, “there was this kid.”

Sync starts a little when he feels Asch drag the blanket down from where he has it firmly under his chin, and he’s about to turn to give Asch a piece of his mind when a steady, warm hand rests against his bare back. He gives in to the pleasant touch, letting out a soft hum at the comfort it provides, even as the fingers trace along memories better left untouched.

“This kid was terrible at everything he did, except one, almost insignificant thing: he was an amazing fisherman.”

“Where is this going?” Sync interrupted, and was given a light shove in response.

“You asked for a story. Do you want one or not?”

He smiles, settles, and continues to listen to Asch’s soothing voice.

“This wasn’t so unusual, as his village was a village of fishermen, but he was able to lure the best, healthiest fish to feed his family. Many were jealous of his talents, and still others demanded to know his secret.”

On the top of his tongue is a question, but before Sync can ask it, he feels Asch’s fingers start tracing a pattern, a constellation, into his skin. He tries to figure out the drawing, memorizing the feel of each line laid out with such kind precision.

“Whenever he was asked, the boy would merely smile, tilt his head, and say, ‘You need only ask the stars, and they will provide.’ As time went on, the question was asked more and more, and more and more people grew angry with his repeated response. It never changed – the beat and the pattern of words were always identical.”

“One day, a group of people cornered him at the end of a dock, and refused to let him go until he gave his honest answer.”

A bird, he realizes. That is the pattern Asch is laying in his skin. His brow furrows as he tries to turn, but Asch’s hand is still firm. Apparently, until the story is finished, he is not allowed to turn around.

“He told them the same thing, and in return they pushed him into the churning, stormy waters. He was immediately dragged below. The people waited for him to resurface, but all that came up were bubbles, and soon enough, there was nothing but the water.”

“They vowed to each other to never speak of the event, their hearts filled with remorse and sorrow for what they had done. Jealousy had driven them, but it was their choice that killed their fellow villager. They knelt on the dock, staring into the waters, and shouted their apologies to the stars above, twinkling in silent witness to the events of the world.”

Sync didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Asch paused. Even the stroking on his back stops, right where the tip of the bird’s beak should be.

“From out of nowhere came the loud caw of the biggest bird any of them had ever seen. Its plumage was a deep violet, dotted with dark blues and sparkling deep reds, and it swooped down to pluck the boy from the sea. The boy was completely unharmed, though he coughed for several moments as the villagers looked on in wonder. Over the boy’s head the bird’s wing remained, a protection and warning, its eyes far more intelligent than any normal animal.”

“There, on the dock, once he had caught his breath, the boy smiled and gently lay a hand on the bird’s taloned foot. ‘See?’ he said, and his voice was kind, and his smile true, ‘You need only ask the stars, and they will provide.’”

“From that day on, the boy and the villagers worked together, and the village flourished, with its guardian flying over, ever watchful.”

Sync smiles to himself and finally rolls over. Asch has an eyebrow raised as if to say “Don’t you dare make a comment” but Sync merely sits himself up and kisses Asch sweetly on the lips.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely. “I don’t know if any of it made sense, but it was interesting to listen to.”

Asch rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around Sync, drawing him back in against his chest. “You wanted a story. You got a story. Now go to sleep.”

“How did you even come up with that?” Sync asks, unwilling to let it go. He takes a deep breath as Asch’s hand starts to trace along his glyph on his chest, following a pattern Asch knows as well as his own name, and Sync’s breath stills in his chest as realization slowly dawns.

“I think you know where I get my inspiration.”

“…That was so sappy.”

A chuckle, then, “Oh shut up.”

And Sync joins in the laugh, feeling Asch’s lips gently press to the back of his shoulder and the bird in flight flutter like his heart beneath Asch’s touch.


End file.
